Time to Reflect, Time to Regret
by KaterineKasdorf
Summary: What if he had stayed? What if he had been unable to leave Middle Earth when everyone else left or died? Legolas remembers the past...
1. Awakening

{Author's Note: This is a little idea I've had for quite some time and finally decided to put on paper. I can't promise much when it comes to updates, and if I find that the story is going in circles I'll probably end it with an apologetic note. Don't expect an earth-shaking plot, just some thoughts.}  
  
The sun timidly peeked her head above the horizon, turning the sky a pale, elusive gray. She yawned and stretched, shooting her rays out, out, out over the sea, touching the tops of foamy waves and dipping deep into fathomless depths. With a final yawn she burst up into the sky, beaming at all and sundry. The gulls blinked their sleepy eyes and soared into the sky dipping into the icy water and coming up with beak fulls of fish. The breakers beat upon the white shore steadily, much as they had done for time without end. One large wave came far up and splashed on something - a bit of brown leather.   
  
The leather was the shoe of some unmoving creature. A gull circling overhead thought that the unmoving figure looked vaguely edible and flew lower to inspect. When the leather clad figure still did not move the cheeky gull landed at its feet and waddled closer, cocking its head to and fro. The creature was dressed all in light brown and green. It sat with its knees drawn up and its hands resting lightly on them. Its golden head faced the sea, and its blue eyes were unblinkingly open. The gull let out a tentative peep, then pecked at a leather shoe. The creature shot straight into the air with an alarmed yell. The gull let out a strangled squawk and tripped over its own clumsy feet trying to waddle away before it remembered its wings and took to the sky, scolding as it flew.  
  
The creature laughed at himself and shook his head. He must have been deep in his waking dreams to allow a mere gull to startle him so. He stretched with feline grace and looked at the horizon without squinting. The sun was in the position of eight o' clock; he had slept too many hours. He glanced once more at the gull, who had settled on the wet sand a few feet away and was glaring at him. He smiled to himself and turned his back on the sea, setting out across the drier sand toward a rocky outcropping. Lightly he sprang onto a large rock and used his hands to pull himself higher and higher. At the top of the cliff he stood looking at the ocean. It spread out farther then his sharp eyes could see. It was so many colors: blue, indigo, green, and the deep dark black of the depths. From here he could see the small movements far out that were really huge waves, able to capsize even the greatest of sailing vessels. His eyes scanned the horizon and he found himself unconciously looking for something. He looked for a small spot of gray - the way he had seen it so long ago - long even to him, to whom time passed both on wings of wind and crawling slower than a worm.   
  
With a shake of his head he turned from the view and walked on the cool, damp grass into a clump of trees. At one large tree he stopped, then sprang up veritcally and grabbed a large branch. He lifted himself higher and higher into the thickest part of the tree where he had built a small shelter. Inside were his few possessions: a bit of dried meat, some bread and fruit, a change of clothes, and his weapons. Some days he would pick up the smooth gray bow and run his hands over thoughtfully, his eyes seeing events long passed, but today he moved aside the bow and unwrapped the loaf of bread. It was nearly gone. Soon he would need to go to the little cave and build a fire to cook the bread in his special way. His store of dry fruit was almost depleted, but that did not worry him. Soon the trees would bear fruit again and he would lay the best pieces out in the sun on the shore until they withered and dried. But he would eat some fresh first. He could almost taste a ripe apple in his mouth. His teeth would sink through the skin into the crisp white flesh. The juice would run down his chin as he would pull out a big bite and eat it all.   
  
He only ate a small hunk of bread before wrapping the loaf again. It did not take much to fill him. He started to leave his little shelter, then stopped and picked up a long white knife. It took regular care to keep the knife clean and sharp, but the tasks of cleaning and sharpening were no longer done lovingly. Such things held no interest for him now. He strapped the knife about his waist, then swung down from the trees again. When his feet touched the ground he was off, veering to the left, running lightly over leaf and root. If anyone had happened to be wandering through the forest they would not have heard him pass. He sprang over rocks and fallen trees, almost without looking at them. When at last he reached the clear stream he was not out of breath. He bent and put his hands into the water bringing his cupped hands to his mouth and sipping. When he had drunk it all he dropepd his hands on his legs and wiped them dry. He listed for a moment - the trees talked softly to one another in their leafy language, rustling and rasping. The birds sang to each other high in the sky, and the water laughed and talked to itself as it skipped over the rocks on its way to the sea. For a moment he was pierced with sadness as he realized that neither the trees nor birds nor stream spoke his language. But before the longing over took him he shook off the sadness and plunged his face into the water, laughing and spluttering as he came up. 


	2. Remembering

The elf stared gloomily at the sheets of rain that obscured his view of the sea. From his little shelter in the trees he was accustomed to looking far out to the horizon. Now he could see only a few feet. The day had started out so beautifully; how could it now be so dreary?  
  
  
  
"Into each life some rain must fall.... Some days must be cold and dark and dreary."  
  
Where did those words come from? He knew them to be poetry from their lyrical feel, but it was not the poetry of his people, nor of any of the peoples he had known so many years ago. At last the memory pierced his consciousness.   
  
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He had heard the people coming his way and retreated quickly to the rocks. For so many years he had been alone that he could not bear to see these people, or at the least he could not bear to have them see him. The language they spoke was one he had learned ages ago, though it was some changed. A man and a woman, he decided, hearing a distinction in the soft tones. From his hiding place he could see them walking hand in hand. Their manner of dress was much different than that of the last men he had seen. The man was dressed in long gray breeches with a matching tunic that fasted down the middle. The woman wore a skirt of thick black cloth and a white high-necked tunic. Her hair was gathered on top of her head in a round knot and puffed softly. The two seemed absorbed in one another, each speaking in soft, loving voices. If he had not been an elf he would not have been able to hear them, but he was an elf, and he understood most everything they said.  
  
  
  
"Darling," the woman said in cultured tones, "must you go? I don't know if I can bear it."  
  
The man had bent protectively over her little head. "You will bear it, love. You'll dig deep down in that womanly bosom and find that you are stronger than you could ever have thought." At this the woman had leaned against him and gave a little sob. He pulled her close and kissed her. "Dearest Anna, things are happening that must be stopped! In this free, intelligent world there should never be war. If the civilized peoples of the world don't put an end to this there won't be any civilized people left. Don't you understand? If we, if I don't do my part to put an end to this then I am no better than they!"   
  
The woman stopped her weeping and lifted her head to look in his eyes. "I understand, Edward darling. I will sacrifice you if I must. I will give my dearest gift to the world." He kissed her again when she said this, and for a few moments they were silent. Then she spoke again, in a much calmer, sadder voice. "It was foolish of me to think that I could go through life with no real sorrows to make me strong."   
  
He held her at arms length and smiled at her, "No darling, not foolish, just hopeful. But you know, 'Into each life some rain must fall, somedays must be cold and dark and dreary."  
  
She nodded. "So cold, unless there is someone with me." The man had touched her face. "I must make this world better for the children we will someday have. Anna, will you?"   
  
The elf had intruded long enough on their private moment. He scaled the rocks, knowing that the young couple would not have looked up if a whole mountain came rushing their way.  
  
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The elf's mind returned to the present time. The rain had passed away while he day-dreamed. He climbed down from his shelter and walked to the cliff, looking out at the grey, restless sea and the empty coast. 


	3. Pippin

The cave on the shore had been his first home. It gave him an uninhibited view of the sea at all times. It also allowed the wind and rain to buffet him at will, so he had built the shelter in the trees. Now he was back in the cave on a sunny day, baking bread. It was a tricky operation over an open fire. It had taken him months to perfect the process, and even then the bread had gone bad within a week. Now he knew just the proper amounts of the wild grasses and herbs to mix. He knew how to turn them into a think paste and spread it over a white-hot rock. When the bread was cooked he would hang it from long strands of seaweed on a pole, allowing the salty air to cure the bread so that it would last him many months.   
  
The elf lifted up one of the heavy loaves and tied the seaweed around it. It was a charred black color, flat to the sight and dull to the taste. His mind travelled back to bread he had once eaten - Long crusty loaves of bread at his home in the forest cave, the sweet manna from Imladris that melted on his tongue and left him hungering for more, dried biscuits as he ran across many lands, lembas that could last forever, hearty wheat breads in the house of Theoden, full-bodied herb breads in the great house of Gondor and....  
  
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He took the round loaf from the cook's hands. He had watched her pull it from the oven and brush it with a buttery glaze. Then she had wrapped it in a thick cloth and silently handed it to him. The heat even penetrated the cloth and he shifted the bread from hand to hand to keep from being burned. Bowing politely to the group of hard-working women he swiftly left the kitchen and sped through the maze of marble hallways. He hurried in part from the importance of his mission, in part because the hot bread was burning him. A delicious smell rose from the wrapped bundle, and many of the people he passed, important emissaries and lowely serving women alike, stopped their comings and goings to sniff the air as the elf passed.   
  
At last he came to the room and pushed through the door. It was an unpretentious chamber, not many feet in diameter (for it was a round room) and unadorned except for the thin white draperies that covered the doorway to a balcony and for a bed against one wall, piled high with white pillows and blankets. Three figures hovered around the bed and the elf gave them a slight nod as he approached. At first glance one would have thought that a child was sleeping amidst the downy covers, but a second glance would make one think that a child should never look that old. The one in the bed was in fact a male hobbit. The hobbit had silver curls and lots of wrinkles, yet when he opened his eyes to see the newcomer there was a youth and a mischevous twinkle in their bright depths.  
  
Pulling himself up and resting on his elbows he croaked, "So you'd try using food to bribe an old hobbit into living, eh?" The elf smiled and unwrapped the loaf. The top of it was a lovely golden brown, and he was sure it would tempt the appetite of the aging elder. But the hobbit just shook his head. "It's no use, you know. I can't eat anything now. I'm just too old." He leaned back on his pillows and stared at the faces around him. One was a nurse who had waited on him for the past two months. The other three were of different races. One was a dwarf, hardened by war and time, his grey beard hanging to his knees. The next was a man, kingly. Age rested on his shoulders, but it had not yet touched his face. The last was the elf, and his face seemed out of place among the rest. His hair was still as golden, his eyes still as bright and blue, as they had been all those years ago when the hobbit had first laid eyes on him. The elf would never change.  
  
The old nurse sensed that the friends wished to be alone. "Master Peregrin, will you be needing anything else?" she asked. At the hobbit's small guesture of dismissal she curtsied to them and left the room. Now the hobbit looked at his companions lingeringly, letting his eyes touch each face. "We're the very last, you know. The last of the fellowship." The man knelt and took one of the frail hands in his. The hobbit continued, "One by one they've all left. First Gandalf, him that was so close and never cared to answer questions. I can still hear him scolding me now - "  
  
The man broke in softly, "Fool of a Took!"  
  
The invalid laughed, "Yes, that is what he called me. I can see his eyes glaring at me from under those eye brows. Such a loss..." His voice trailed off and he almost seemed to be asleep, but after a moment he roused himself. "Of course Gandalf came back later. What a good joke that was. Poor Boromir never came back. The last I saw him - it's burned into my memory forever - he was leaning against a tree plucking one of those great black arrows out of his chest. He saved me and Merry. I wish I could repay him."   
  
The man put his hand on the troubled brow, "You offered your services to his father in repayment of that debt."  
  
The hobbit sat up straighter. "And yes how terribly cross Gandalf was at me for that!" Suddenly he lay fully back on his pillows. "Old Strider would never have been angry at me. I remember the first time we saw him, standing in the shadows of that room at the Prancing - what is the word?" He looked to the man for an answer.  
  
"Pony." The man supplied.  
  
"Ah yes. The Prancing Pony. And old Barliman who didn't remember the letter until it was useless. Except it told us who the stranger was." He turned to look at the man and the light of recognition was in his eyes. "Do you remember it, Strider? There was that little verse what old Bilbo had made up for you. How did it go?"  
  
Strider, for it was he, quoted the verse softly. "All that is gold does not glitter, not all that wander are lost."  
  
The hobbit nodded. "Yes that was how it went. And Sam staring at you so suspiciously. Sam always was the suspicious one. We were so glad when we knew that he had gone with Frodo." His eyes closed softly and he mumbled, "Ah well, they're all gone now." A tear leaked from beneath his eyelid. "Gandalf and Elrond and the Lady Galadriel came for Frodo. They brought old Bilbo with them. To the Grey Havens they were going, and they had to take Frodo with them beyond the mist." He sighed. "Then the three of us rode home together. Me and Merry and Sam. Sam left too, though. But it was a long time before he did. And then when Merry - " Here he clinched he teeth hard and a tremor passed over him. After a moment he opened his eyes and the grief was not in them. "Do you remember when we were captured by those horrid orcs?"  
  
The dwarf spoke for the first time, "You young rascals led us on a merry chase across field and mountain. When at last we found you you were smoking the best pipe weed if I remember correctly." All four of them laughed at this, remembering the sight of the two hobbits speaking so grandly and eating away at Saruman's food store.  
  
The elf finally spoke, "We four have seen much." The others nodded in agreement and a silence fell on them as they thought of the past and friends long gone.  
  
Suddenly the hobbit sat bolt upright, planting his right hand through the loaf the absent-minded elf had left lying on the bed. "Say Strider, where's Merry? He should be here by now. I only sent him for my pipe." The three friends exchanged alarmed looks. Strider gently pushed the hobbit back against the pillows and smoothed the unruly curls. When he spoke his voice was strangely hoarse. "It's all right, Pip. I'm sure he'll be here soon."   
  
Pippin smiled softly and closed his eyes. "Yes, I can hear him in the passage now." The dwarf wiped his eyes and the elf looked at his old friend with wonder. The hobbit kept rambling, "Gandalf with that red ring on his finger. Wise Elrond smiling as he entered the boat. And the Lady Galadriel, all in white... a glisten on the water as she flashed her ring in farewell...." His voice trailed off and he was silent for so long that his friends thought he was asleep and rose to leave. He smiled suddenly and said in a clear voice that sounded like the old Pippin they had known. "Well Bilbo may have beat the Old Took, but I'm sure Merry and I are the only hobbits ever to beat the BullRoarer." He laughed his merry hobbit laugh then promptly fell into a deep sleep from which he never awakened.  
  
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The elf wrapped a flat black loaf and hung it on the stick for the salty breeze to cure. 


	4. Ellwyna

The night wind caressed his cheeks as he stood inches from the foaming surf. There was a wild, poignant loneliness about the shore that night. The rough waves told of a coming storm, yet the sky was clear, the stars bright.  
  
The silence was complete. He heard nothing but the waves. It was a silence strangely absent of the sounds of little creatures scurrying over the broken shells and birds humming sleepily to one another. Even the breeze made no sound as it swept over the damp, hard-packed sand.  
  
He half believed that he wasn't standing there. The sea and wind certainly took no notice of him. He lifted his foot and looked at the sand underneath. He had left no imprints. A familiar ache was starting up deep in his soul, and he felt a desperate need to prove to himself that he existed.  
  
Squatting he drew his long finger through the wet sand. He left marks this time. He sat back on his heels to survey his handiwork. The sight of his name written in curving script assuaged his rising panic. He still was.  
  
He gave a sigh of relief and lay back looking at the stars. They had changed over time. He could no longer look at them and read the stories of old. He knew they must tell new stories of this new world, but he had never learned the art of interpreting their meaning.  
  
Some nights he would make up stories of his own. He'd imagine himself up there, fighting and winning battles, and people on the earth looking up and admiring him. But tonight that stars held no charm for him. Writing his name had made him remember something – a little golden head bent studiously over a bit of parchment, a smooth white forehead scrunched in concentration, a rosebud mouth pursed thoughtfully.  
  
Éowyn had been preparing a poultice for an abscess on a broodmare's leg, and Elwyna had been too much under foot. The little girl followed her mother's every step doggedly until at last Éowyn had set the little girl at a table outside with pen and parchment and instructions to write a letter to her uncle Éomer.  
  
She was sitting there, frowning at her paper when the elf glided onto the terrace. She glanced up and waved him over distractedly.  
  
"I must get this letter off," she said, sticking out her little chin. When he stepped closer to see it she crossed her chubby arms over the letter and frowned, "Please," she said primly, "This is a private correspondence." He nodded solemnly and sat nearby on a low wall. Clearing his throat he asked, "How may I be of assistance to her ladyship?"  
  
She sighed as she lay her plumy pen across the paper. "I have so many things to do just now. I'm afraid I've neglected my dear Uncle most dreadfully. I was just writing to him of the new gown I'm having made." She turned back to her writing.  
  
His eyes were sparkling with fun, but he forced himself to keep a sober face. He wouldn't offend the precocious tot's dignity. "I'm sure Éomer will be pleased to hear from his favorite niece," he said, vying for her favor.  
  
The prim little miss saw through his attempt and sniffed, "I'm his only niece."  
  
"That's true." He admitted, determined to treat her like an adult if he could do so without laughing.  
  
Again she gave a dramatic sigh, "If I could just scribble this off quickly – I'm muddle over some of the words – then I could go back and help mother. She needs me desperately, but of course she wouldn't let me help her and ignore my letter-writing. Poor dear." Her head was bent over the letter so he permitted himself a grin at her last speech. He could easily imagine Éowyn's real reason for sending her daughter to write a letter, and he secretly resolved to keep Elwyna busy for as long as possible.  
  
"What words have you muddled?" he asked her.  
  
"'Silk' and 'midnight blue.'" She answered promptly, and he spelled the words for her. She wrote silently for a few minutes, seemingly totally absorbed. But when he stood and tried to peek at the letter she covered it with her arms without even looking up. "I thought I told you this was private." She said crossly.  
  
He grimaced and sat back down, "I thought I'd make sure you weren't having any more trouble," he said lamely.  
  
"If I need help I'll be sure to ask for it." She had a wonderful sarcastic tone when she said that. It made him go into silent spasms of laughter. A few minutes later she asked, "How do you spell 'tent?'" He complied. Then: "How do you spell 'camp fire?'" He answered, wondering what this was about. "How do you spell 'konkshreewwwwww burububub?'" this time she made a fairly good impression of a loud snore.  
  
"What?" he asked in alarm. "What are you writing about?"  
  
She smiled at him sweetly, "I'm writing about when Daddy took me camping with him."  
  
The elf couldn't hold back his laughter that time. It rang out clear as a bell. If only poor Faramir could hear his daughter's imitation of his snores...  
  
"Well you certainly seem happy!" Éowyn's voice broke in. He saw that she had come to the door with her poultice and a roll of bandages. With subtle hand-motions he showed her that he was laughing at Elwyna, and she nodded in understanding. "Thank you," she said gratefully. He nodded.  
  
"Elwyna, would you like to help me put the poultice on Greyfell?" she asked. The little girl sprang from her seat, the "private correspondence" forgotten in her excitement. She waved a goodbye as she and her mother made their way to the stables.  
  
He stood watching until Elwyna skipped around a corner and then curiosity got the best of him. He picked up the letter. His laugh filled the air once again when he saw that the paper was covered with meaningless scribbles.  
  
Lying on the beach he smiled again as he remembered, not noticing that a wave had washed his name from the sand. 


	5. Frodo

He'd spent innumerable hours watching the gulls. HE admired the way they swept along on the wind currents, flapping their wings once or twice, then allowing the wind to push them speedily on their way. He'd amused himself by tossing bits of salty bread into the air and watching how quickly a group would gather. With instinctive brilliance they knew exactly where the wind would take the food. They seemed to hover effortlessly over him, and at times their lack-tipped wings would brush his face.  
  
The sea birds reminded him of men. They were creatures of a sort of grace and beauty, living every day within reach of the mighty ocean, yet they were insensitive to it. The sea provided them with the food they needed and they in turn ignored it. Men were like that. They lived in the shadows of mighty forests and tall mountains never noticing them unless their families were hungry or threatened.  
  
Today he waded waist deep into the swells and let the cool water drench him. He knew from experience that the salt and sand would become imbedded into his leather clothing, making the jerkin and breeches stiff and uncomfortable, but at the moment he did not care. He could taste the salt on his lips. Raising both hands in the air in an almost worshipful gesture he sprang lightly on his toes and dove under an incoming wave. He surfaced several feet further out at sea and had to bounce to stay above the water. The water that dripped from his hair brought to mind a face – rosy and big- eyed, framed by wet brown curls.  
  
He had been standing up on a wall of Minas Tirith facing the sea (unseen yet always felt,) when he heard a commotion from a nearby chamber. He jumped down from the wall and headed curiously in the direction of the noise which became clearer as he neared their origin. Their was a great sound of splashing and a cheery hobbit voice raised in song, "Ho, ho, ho to the bath I go to heal my heart and to drown my woe."  
  
As he stood on the threshold of a door he knew what he would find inside, and he was not wrong. The four hobbits were in large tubs bathing, but it appeared that the bathing had turned into an all out water war between the incorrigible Merry and Pippin. Typically Sam was serious about what he was doing, scrubbing his curls with a frown, but it was Frodo that caught the elf's eye. He sat in his tub, not moving, just staring at his four-fingered hand. Merry shot up a spray of water that hit Frodo squarely in the face. Sam frowned fiercely but Merry and Pippin just laughed, "That's familiar! Just like it used to be, eh Frodo?" asked Pippin joyously, but the jest fell flat and the room became silent. The hobbits finished their washing and dressed. The elf walked Frodo back to his quarters. They said nothing for a time, but at last the hobbit said shakily, "It will never be like it used to be." He looked up earnestly at his friend. "You can't look back or it will break your heart, or you'll go crazy for longing o bring back the old times." Nothing more was said until they reached Frodo's door, then he lifted tear-filled eyes, "But then, if that's all you have – the looking back, I mean – and you have no choice but to live in the far past because everything else is too painful – "he broke off with a sigh as he took in the golden elf who stood before him, "I don't suppose you can understand," he said and entered his room, shutting his door behind.  
  
But now he could understand, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He swam for shore, the enjoyment of his swim ended. It would take him a long time to clean his clothes. 


	6. Aragorn

The thing that got him the most was the loneliness. He'd never expected to feel that way. He'd always been one who'd been content to be on the fringe of the group. He had friends, to be sure, the best friends anyone could ever wish for, but he'd been happiest when he was alone. He loved the times he could sneak off to sit under a tree and let his mind wander.

Now he was desperate. Desperate for a face to look on, a voice to speak to him. He just wanted to communicate with someone. In his dreams he was visited by his friends of old. They never spoke; they just looked at him with reproachful eyes. "Speak to me!" he would scream, but still they were silent. It had been different once. He knew what it was to have friends.

"You just run the rag up and down the bowstring, like so," he demonstrated what he was saying to the chubby toddler at his side. The little one just looked at him with huge grey eyes.

"Shiny?" the toddler asked.

"When we've done it right," he answered back solemnly.

"Me!" exclaimed the little genius.

"I'm not sure…" he began, but when he saw the trembling lower lip he handed over the rag. The baby clenched it in is chubby fist and imitated what he had seen done, rubbing the rag awkwardly over the taut bowstring. The elf flinched. It took all his willpower to keep from snatching his precious bow away and putting it somewhere safe, but the last thing he wanted was to make the baby cry. A low laugh from behind startled him. He turned to see the king and queen, who were amused at his predicament.

"He can be quite stubborn. He sets his mind to one thing and won't give it up," the queen told him.

"Which of the two human males are you referring to?" queried the elf, sharing a laugh with the queen at the king's expense.

The queen kissed her husband on the chin, then entered the room and scooped the baby into her arms. "Come on, Eldarion. It's time for you to sleep." The baby yawned hugely, but immediately protested, "No bed!" His mother only laughed at left the room with him in tow.

The king stood in the doorway and watched as the elf careful put away his bow. "Whatever possessed you to bring that out in Eldarion's presence?" he asked, knowing full well how important the bow was to the elf.

"I was trying to keep the princeling amused. He has the strangest habit of wanting to do more than listen to stories. I'm not sure where he gets his need for action," he smiled at his longtime friend.

The king assumed an air of innocence. "I have no idea what you mean." He pushed himself off of the doorway where he had been leaning and strode into the room. His friend was squatting on the floor, gathering up the wood chips he had been using to explain battle strategy. The king squatted down beside him, his hands resting lightly on his knees. For a while he only watched his friend, but at last he spoke, his voice low and strained. "You feel it, don't you? The sea cry of your kin." His grey eyes pierced the blue eyes of his friend, as if he could read the answer in them. It was disconcerting, and at last the elf looked away silently. "Arwen feels it," the king pressed on, "She doesn't tell me, of course. She loves me, loves our child, but still the sea cries to her," he broke off and bowed his head, breathing deeply. The elf reached out to put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. When he was under control the king spoke again, "You have nothing to hold you here; the longing must be unbearable for you." Once again the piercing eyes.

The elf could not deny the longing, much as he may have wanted to, but the king was wrong about one thing, "Nothing to hold me except friendship. Friendship and vows made in the earnestness of heart." Vows he would not break. Friendships he was unwilling to end.

"Your true friends would release you from your vows," the king said. He was unwilling as well to lose a friend, but even more unwilling to make a friend suffer for his own comfort.

The elf smiled his slow dreamy smile, "And I would still hold myself to them." This was no longer a topic to be argued for him. He had made up his mind years ago, "When the last of my friends are gone, then I will go, too."

But this did not comfort the king. He had thought too long about this, "What if it is then too late? Perhaps the last ship will sail before the last of your friends are gone!"

"Then I will be left here," the elf answered calmly. He too had thought long about the possibility.

"Go now, my friend. I release you," the king said almost pleadingly, "I know the others would do the same."

"No, my friend. I will stay. I will watch over you and your family and the families of my other friends," he answered resolvedly. His mind was made up, and even his dearest friend could not convince him to break his vows. The king knew that. He could see the determination in the elf's eyes. He had, then, just one request.

"Promise me."

"What?"

"Promise me that when Arwen - " here the king's voice broke again, but he pressed on. "When Arwen goes you will go also."

"Where? Where will Arwen go?"

"When she leaves. When I am dead she will leave here. You go as well. Leave and go with her. Go to the sea. If you cannot find a boat to take you away then stay together by the sea. Go with her," the king pleaded. The look on his face was heartrending. It was the look of a man who has asked his only love to sacrifice herself for him, and is then unable to save her from herself.

The elf rose to his feet and walked to an open window. He knew that Aragorn still had doubts. The king still wondered if he had done the right thing by letting Arwen stay with him, instead of crossing over with the rest of her kin. The elf had wondered himself if he had done the right thing. He wasn't even sure if it was his place to stay anymore. He didn't know what purpose he had. The silence stretched out as he stared over the hills and plains to where the sea was calling to him. The bonds of loyalty that held him to his friends were not easily broken, but neither was the sea longing. "I wish I had never heard the gulls," he murmured to himself, but the king heard him anyway.

"What?" he asked, coming to stand at the elf's side.

"Nothing," answered the elf. He didn't want to add to his friend's heavy burden. In fact, he hoped that he could lighten it, "Very well, Aragorn. I will stay here until your wife leaves. When she goes I will go as well."

The king clasped his old friend on the shoulder, and together they turned to look at the sea that would someday tear them apart.

It was that sea that was now his only companion, and he found that it was not nearly enough.


End file.
